


Collision

by BuddyTheMeanPeacock



Series: The Crest of Riegan [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), tagging blood to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyTheMeanPeacock/pseuds/BuddyTheMeanPeacock
Summary: Two images of Claude come together in Cyril's mind.
Series: The Crest of Riegan [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563514
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Collision

There was much Cyril didn’t remember in his time serving for the Almyran army; he was glad for that, honestly. The gaps in his memory have the habit of leaving him feeling uncomfortable at the best of times. But there was also much he remembered; the stupid dances they had after every fight, as if what they were doing was any kinda good, the horrid treatment new recruits like him went through to “prove” themselves. They were the sorta thing he would think about when he wanted to feel angry.

There was one thing he remembered that was different. Not in a good way, though.

There was a man - if he had to guess an age, maybe… late twenties? - that would talk to him. Not because the man liked Cyril or anything - that was obvious, since no one seemed to _like_ each other where he was stationed - but because Cyril was one of the few people there that would listen to him ramble. Cyril never caught the man’s name, but that probably wouldn’t hurt the man’s feelings if what he told Cyril was true.

The man was crazy. Everyone had known that; the look in his eyes, the tilt in his voice. It was why no one talked to him. There was enough to worry about without some guy talking your ear off about things he _swears_ is true, ya gotta believe him! Sure. But Cyril listened, because there was nothing better to do a lotta times, so why not?

He had told him that he was an assassin, had killed plenty of stuffy nobles in their pretty homes. Never let a target slip away, he swore, and he was always gone before any knew a thing. That part, that wasn’t totally unbelievable; plenty of shady people were in the army. Hell, a lotta them _enlisted_ , a no-name nobody in a sea of disposable no-names, where no one asked about your past cuz you’d probably die tomorrow anyway. 

It was what the man would say next that would make Cyril question him.

It was his last mission, he said, the one that would have the most ramifications were he to succeed. Ordered by the second prince himself, he said, and the price was a promise of never-ending wealth. Even he said it was stupid of him to take it up; a promise like that has a challenge to match it, and he wasn’t up to snuff. Not even close.

_“I thought it was all lies. I thought they were just rumors. No way someone that young could earn a title like that.”_

His target was Prince Khalid, the fourth prince, the youngest of the royal family. Even Cyril, uninterested in the family as he was, knew of the title the prince earned:

The Undying.

_“It’s true, boy. It’s all true! I seen it myself, I stabbed that thing right in the chest and it didn’t die! It opened its eyes, and stared into me, and a golden moonlight filled the room - next thing I know that demon stabbed me, and I **feel** my life being sucked out of me! I saw it **crawl** up its arms and heal it! Don’t go near that thing boy, don’t even think it, it’ll kill you too-” _

And then he would ramble, lose himself, talk without a thought in his head. Cyril knew that it couldn’t be true, but… it made him uneasy, just how _much_ the man believed what he said. He wasn’t faking that horror in his eyes, as though him talking about it would kill him right then and there. But there was no way that was true. People can’t just… _take_ life like that.

Unless. Well. They can.

Fodlan is a weird place. He ultimately likes it better than Almyra, but that doesn’t make how the place works any less worrying. Lady Rhea told him when she took him in of Crests, “blessings” from the “Goddess Sothis.” He thinks he gets it, in general, but it’s still hard to take in when a guy who can’t be that much older than him just casually moves a fallen tree out of Cyril’s way when he returns from gathering supplies. That incident made him hyper focus on his talks with Lady Rhea, has him ask more about Crests, which ones do what and belong to who so he knows the hierarchy of who _not_ to make angry. Dimitri was at the top of that hierarchy, beat out by only one person.

Claude. Wielder of the Crest of Riegan. 

_“It is quite the unique Crest: it and its lost sister Crest, along with the Crest of Flames, are the only ones that heal those who possess it. Those who own it are renowned for their unmatched resilience.”_

Cyril had his suspicions before with Claude; Fodlan may not know what to look for, but he does, and let’s just say Claude was leaning _hard_ on the idea that no one knew a lick about Almyra to blend in. And really, if his innocence braid wasn’t big enough, his weird reaction when Cyril told him he knew who _Claude_ was was enough to push into “almost certain” territory. 

But hearing that, what his Crest does…

He’s seen Claude plenty.

Claude was silly, no other word for it. Well, and nosy. But definitely silly too. How he drives that purple guy’s nerves into the dirt with just a word, his frankly uncountable amount of pranks he pulls with and against the Goneril girl (and the Goneril girl back at him), and _man_ , the world can explode and Lysithea _still_ wouldn’t be done talking about how much he treats her like a kid, along with all the other things he’s seen and heard Claude do. Claude was a normal noble, living life with no care because he can.

_Don’t go near that thing boy, don’t even think it_

_He wasn’t faking that horror in his eyes, as though him talking about it would kill him right then and there-_

“Helloooo? Anyone home in there?”

Cyril jumps and looks back at the green-eyed house leader in front of him, waving a cookie in front of his face. He pushes the hand away.

“Ahh, so there is!”

“Sorry, alright? Just was thinkin’ about stuff is all.”

“Well, far be it from me to nag you over getting lost in thoughts. Now, where were we…?”

As Cyril sits there listening to the time Claude apparently got himself sick testing out some weird plants or whatever, he can’t help but think how stupid it was for him to worry. Nosy, silly, maybe too callous at times, but Claude was nice.

He wasn’t some monster.

\---

And then a war happens. Five years pass, of searching for Lady Rhea, living in a battle-torn land. It reminds of too much of Almyra. But he and the Knights team up with Claude, and it doesn’t look so bad anymore. Claude’s not as silly nowadays, though he’s still relying a lot on the ignorance of Leicester; if anything his get-up, nice as it was, screamed his real home louder than anything he’s ever done in the past, and Cyril had to wonder just how Fodlan can know _so_ little about a neighboring continent. 

Well, he can think more about that later. They just got here and the professor is already having them clear out skirmishes, like the old days. The reasons might be darker and realer, but it’s familiar enough to take his mind off of things, at least for a while.

They meet the bandits in the timely fashion they always did. Cyril rears his wyvern back and lands a blow on the enemy below him, as he always did before.

He hears a familiar voice call out in pain, unlike anything he’s heard the voice do before.

“Claude!”

In the thick of woods - that’s where he heard it. Too thick for his wyvern to join, he dismounts and sprints in the direction of the shout.

He makes it in time to see Claude’s shoulder be cleaved by an axe, blood spraying on the grass, his face, the face of the bandit. 

_So much._

It was _so much blood._

Cyril choked back a scream. He’s seen plenty of injuries in his time in the Almyran army. He knows a mortal wound when he sees one.

Claude couldn’t survive that.

_So soon? So soon after we join forces, and you’re just gonna die?_

Well

No.

He sees a light appear behind Claude. 

_A golden moonlight_

He takes his sword, raising it as though his other shoulder wasn’t nearly taken off.

_Those who own it are renowned for their unmatched resilience_

Cyril got to see pure horror cross the face of the bandit before Claude slit his throat. The blood was immediate and just as plentiful. A pale green light slithered out of the wound, up Claude’s arms to settle on his shoulder. He sees it stitch itself back in place until it’s in perfect condition.

_I **feel** my life being sucked out of me _

_It heals those who possess it_

Khalid the Undying. 

It- It was _true_.

He- He knew about his Crest. Lady Rhea told him. He knew. He _knew_ . But- But seeing it- _seeing it_ \- it was- it- it was-

Cyril fell to the ground. His legs wouldn’t work. He felt sick.

Makes you stronger, fine, don’t waste magic, fine, others can’t fight back, fine, fine, that was all _fine_ , but- but this-

“Cyril?”

He snaps his head up.

Prince Khalid the Undying, fourth prince of Almyra, in his clothes that scream Almyra’s name, looks down at him.

He reached out his hand-

_it’ll kill you too_

-and Cyril flinched.

He didn’t mean to. But it happened. Kha- _Claude_ , snapped his hand back like he'd stuck it in a fire. He looked at Cyril with wide eyes; he doesn’t think he’s seen the leader with such an… open expression of fear - was it fear? He wasn’t sure. _Couldn’t_ be sure; Claude closed them too soon. Took a deep breath. Opened them again. They were guarded, a smile acting as gatekeeper.

“Let’s get going.”

He says it calmly - no royal authority, no leading guidance. Almost like they were taking a stroll and lost track of time. Like nothing happened. Cyril knows he should apologize - or… something. He wasn’t sure. He knew he couldn’t just let this go like it was any other day on the battlefield.

But he sees Claude’s back to him, going back to camp, and he can’t help imagining him turning back with amber eyes filled with such a deep fear it strikes the soul, warning him of the monstrous, life-stealing fourth prince. He can’t help but imagine him turning back with mint eyes filled with such a deep patience it settled the mind, telling him of the wondrous blessing that was Crests. The two images warred in his mind in a deadlock, neither side coming out on top.

This needed to be fixed.

Just...

Not now.

**Author's Note:**

> They settle it eventually don't worry ;w; But yeah, like the thought of Claude's Crest making him kinda infamous in Almyra -Tiana too, really! Khalid the Undying and giving a new context to what Claude means by his mother being a "Demon Queen" I think make a neat combo :p


End file.
